


It's Called Science

by livsagna



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (1963)
Genre: United Nations Intelligence Taskforce (Doctor Who)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-12
Updated: 2019-05-12
Packaged: 2020-03-01 09:44:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18797854
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/livsagna/pseuds/livsagna
Summary: With the return of an alien menace some thirty-odd years early, and quite a bit of arguing, it's just another day on the job for everyone who works for UNIT.





	It's Called Science

The Brigadier wrinkled his nose as he strode into the Doctor’s laboratory. He quickly categorized the pungent smell as something akin to rotten eggs, if the eggs had been digested by an alien something-or-other and then burped back up again. A moment later, he noticed the smell seemed to be originating from a steaming beaker being examined by Dr. Elizabeth Shaw, whose nose was appropriately plugged. He made a beeline for her, doing his best to hold his breath but ultimately failing. There was an undertone of decay in the stench, he noted as he got closer. “Miss Shaw, what on Earth are you doing?”

“It’s called science,” she replied frostily, not looking up from her work. “I wouldn’t expect you to have heard of it.”

The Brigadier spluttered. “I just meant, what are you doing making that awful stench for?”

“Making it,” Liz repeated incredulously, arching an eyebrow. “You think I manufactured this smell? What would I do that for? I’m _analyzing_ it. The Doctor believes—”

A distant explosion cut her off. “Ah. That’ll be the aliens, then. Perhaps you could use this disgusting liquid to scare them off,” suggested the Brigadier.

“Quite the contrary,” corrected Liz. “As I was saying, the Doctor believes that a particular species of aliens, who I believe it is safe to assume are the ones currently attacking us, are actually attracted to this odor. I was attempting to find a way to neutralize it—and them—before you blundered in here and started shouting.”

“I assure you, Miss Shaw, I had no intention of interrupting your work. I had merely noticed that you’ve been locked up in here since yesterday, and was wondering if you’d like a bite to eat. _Not_ eggs,” he clarified, referring to the smell. “Benton’s trying his hand at cooking again, though I wouldn’t classify making ham and cheese sandwiches as _cooking_.” A second explosion, this one considerably closer, rocked the room.

“I am perfectly alright,” insisted Liz. “Now, if you would allow me to return to my vitally important work.” She fixed him with an icy stare. The Brigadier thought it best to not tell her he thought a stare like that could freeze hell over, though she would probably be pleased to hear that. He backed away.

“Very well, Miss Shaw. Is there anything you require?”

“I require you to _leave_.” She wasn’t glaring at him anymore, though that was only because she was now looking firmly at the beaker.

The Brigadier continued backing away, moving his swagger stick from its position tucked under his right arm to a position tucked under his left arm. Judging himself far enough away from the smell, he experimentally took a gulp of air. Immediately his senses were once again overloaded with the overlying bouquet of disgustingly terrible halitosis. He doubled over, coughing for a second. Then he straightened his spine with military efficiency and power-walked from the room. Liz rolled her eyes.

Once free of the general vicinity of the lab, the Brigadier realized he could breathe freely again. The halls were mostly empty, as everyone was already engaging the enemy, though the Brigadier did pass one large man he didn’t recognize. The man was wearing a uniform decorated with a large number of ribbons, so he didn’t question it and made towards the sound of explosions and gunfire.

Behind him, though he did not hear it, Liz screamed.

* * *

 Finally left alone to work, Liz was working on a sort of antidote to the smell, and to the alien invaders. The liquid was calcium-based, and the Doctor had assured her the aliens would be too, but it was up to her to find something to stop them. She didn’t know why the Doctor didn’t just have the Brigadier blow them up, but presumably after the Silurian incident he’d had enough explosions. That was just as well, then. Liz enjoyed working in her lab, even with the pressure of another impending alien invasion.

Something tugged at Liz’s mind. The Brigadier had mentioned eggs, which had jogged her memory. When she was younger, she had done a simple science experiment involving making eggs bounce. Eggshells were calcium-based, like the substance she was analyzing, and she had used vinegar to dissolve the shell and make the eggs bounce.

As everyone—exempting the Brigadier, probably—knows, vinegar is a diluted form of acetic acid. While it had taken a while for the eggshells to dissolve back when Liz had run the classic experiment, she figured that because glacial acetic acid is more corrosive than vinegar, it should be better suited to her purposes. And, because she was in a fully-equipped lab, Liz knew exactly where she could find some.

Unfortunately, the Doctor liked to keep the acids in one of the highest cabinets in the room. Sighing, Liz started to drag a stool over to the cabinet. Behind her, she heard the door to the lab open. “Brigadier, is that you?” There was no worded reply, only a strange humming noise and a flicker of blue light. Liz turned around, and screamed.

* * *

Exiting the building, the Brigadier was quick to spot the source of the conflict. A group of large, green aliens with huge, blinking eyes and long, clawed fingers were attacking his men. It almost looked like the UNIT troops were being hunted. “Good heavens!” he exclaimed. “What are those things!?”

“Aliens, sir,” replied Sergeant Benton. “The Doctor says they’re from the planet Roomba.”

“Raxacoricofallapatorius,” corrected the Doctor. “They’re Raxacoricofallapatorians.”

“I still think it’s easier to say Roomba,” said Benton.

“Right,” said the Brigadier, shaking his head to clear it. “These Roombas. How do we stop them?”

“Well didn’t Liz tell you?” thundered the Doctor. “She’s supposed to be working on a sort of antidote to the Raxacoricofallapatorians.”

“Roombas,” said Benton, as he shot one with a bazooka.

“Right, that thing that smells like bad eggs,” responded the Brigadier. He fired a few shots from his gun, but they all missed. The Raxacoricofallapatorians were quite fast, and he couldn’t get a good enough aim. “When I left her, she wasn’t done yet.”

“Well she better hurry up! I’ll go check on her.” The Doctor made to leave, and was promptly knocked out by a pouncing Raxacoricofallapatorian. The Brigadier took advantage of the newly available target, and shot the Raxacoricofallapatorian through one of its enormous eyes.

Benton took another one out with his bazooka. “That’s two for me, sir.” He smiled.

* * *

“Who are you?” Liz asked. Standing before her was a green alien with a large, round head, large, round eyes, and long claws on each hand. Just moments ago, this particular alien had been wearing the body of a plain, unassuming human man. That man’s skin was now laying on the floor, having been discarded.

“I am Kott Fey-Fotch Sharlaveer-Slam Slitheen,” hissed the alien.

Liz picked up the stool and began slowly edging towards the cabinet. “ _What_ are you?” she asked, trying her best to keep her voice steady. She mentally ran over calculations of how much acetic acid she would need to incapacitate one Kott Fey-Fotch Sharlaveer-Slam Slitheen.

“Well, I’m an intergalactic criminal, of course.” For now, the Slitheen did not appear to care about Liz’s movements. She continued moving, pressing on with the questions:

“What species of alien are you? What planet do you come from?”

“Raxacoricofallapatorian, from the planet Raxacoricofallapatorius. Though I don’t see what good that’ll do you, you’re human. You know nothing.” Liz had reached the cabinet, and set the stool down. She began to climb. “Stop moving,” the Slitheen finally said. “Why are you moving?”

Liz crouched atop the stool, and began to stand. “You’re much taller than I am!” she told the Slitheen. “I’d rather be on eye level.” Her heart threatened to burst from her ribcage, but since joining UNIT that was a sensation she had grown used to. She reached up to open the cabinet.

“Hey!” shouted the Slitheen. It was much easier to just think of it as ‘the Slitheen’ than its full name, pondered Liz as she did her best to remember where in the cabinet the acetic acid would be positioned. In the left corner, assuming the Doctor hadn’t reorganized again. Of course, if he had, there could very well be a huge box filled with peanut butter instead of bottles of acid. Peanut butter would do her no good. She reached inside the cabinet. Her hand brushed a bottle, and she pulled it out.

Liz barely had time to register that the object she was holding was not a bottle of acetic acid but instead a bottle of _ketchup_. Oh, Doctor. Then, the Slitheen pounced. Liz, for the second time in ten minutes, screamed.

* * *

The Brigadier stared at his gun, then at Benton’s bazooka, then back at his gun. “Care to trade?” he asked.

Benton grinned. “Not on your life. Sir,” he hastily added.

The Brigadier sighed. “Very well, then.” He supposed it was just the sort of day where he’d wade into an alien mass and start shooting. So, he did just that. Soon thereafter, the remaining Raxacoricofallapatorians were dead or dying. “I believe I’ve won,” he remarked to Benton.

“Sir?”

“Eleven kills to your two.”

“Uh, yes, sir.” Benton saluted.

“Well, I suppose we’d better go tell Miss Shaw that her solution won’t be needed after all.” The Brigadier spotted another soldier nearby and said, “Major, Sergeant Benton and I are going to inform Miss Shaw of the situation. Have the rest of the men clean up out here, and have someone tend to the Doctor.” He got a salute, then sauntered inside with the confident air of someone who had just defeated an alien invasion force, or gotten their hair done. That air was immediately shattered when he heard Liz scream.

* * *

Liz didn’t see a way out of the situation. At least, she couldn’t think her way out in time. All she could do was leap off the stool, still numbly clutching the bottle of ketchup. She quickly backed away from the Slitheen, but it was between her and the only door to the lab. Her only hope was for someone to walk in at just the right moment, as she had nothing she could use to stop the Slitheen. Nothing within reach, anyway.

Then Liz’s brain caught up to her. She wasn’t holding a ketchup bottle from the present, she was holding a ketchup bottle from the future. She could figure this from its design, which was made of plastic. The plastic, she realized, could bend. And ketchup, she remembered, contained acetic acid!

Fumbling, she flipped open the cap of the ketchup bottle and pointed it towards the Slitheen. She didn’t know exactly how far she could shoot the ketchup, though she estimated the Slitheen was not yet in range. Liz forced herself to breathe in, then out. The Slitheen took one step toward her. Then another. Liz took another breath just as the Slitheen took another step. She squeezed the ketchup bottle as hard as she could…

And the Slitheen exploded just as the Brigadier entered the room. “Liz?”

She wiped a bit of exploded Slitheen off her cheek. “I think you’ll need to get a janitor to take care of this mess, Brigadier. And tell the Doctor to stop reorganizing his cabinets; I could have died. Honestly, the audacity of that man.”

The Brigadier almost laughed. “Might I suggest, Miss Shaw, that you take the rest of the afternoon off and join us for lunch? Sergeant Benton here was about to make sandwiches.”

“I suppose I could be convinced to eat something,” decided Liz. “As long as there’s no acetic acid involved.” She smiled.


End file.
